Honey Flava

She nodded and made them be still next to her. Her eyes darted from him to the floor, then began to search the room for clues. She was too nervous to push him for answers, as if he would explain the chain of events—what might come—now that he was in control. She felt truly vulnerable and exposed.

The design of the room slowly sank in. Jade was laid from floor to ceiling with two pillars on the dais next to her and six more on each side of the room. Symbols graced the four corners. A temple room—what she would have done with it, she did not know—the place, the room, even the man before her, held such immeasurable power she felt humble before it. He was a rarity, a former Keeper of the Temple Ways, and he still carried that spiritual deepness in his handsome, finely honed skin.

Clap.

The sharp sound made her jump and brought her eyes immediately to him.

He rubbed his hands together, as if the smack of flesh on flesh had been pleasing to him. Brown eyes held her own; except his were sharper like a bright light—a color that changed depending on his mood.

She watched, wide-eyed, unwilling to take her eyes from him, trying not to blink, trying not to let her imagination run away with her: needing to focus on him and her.

Here she stood, naked in a room filled with jade; filled with him.

The torches on the walls flickered, and one spat out sparks.

“Arms up.”

Like a butterfly opening her wings, she dramatically lifted her arms. In all things, in all ways, she wanted to communicate: her beauty, her ability to rise to the occasion, and the fragile nature of form. She gave him a heart-filling grin.

“Lovely.” The appreciation in his voice was strong. “Such thoughtfulness. I will truly enjoy the gift of this eve.”

A smile was not just an expression when it came from that secret place. It was the lingering evidence of lust and languorous emotions, the one that took compliments of beauty and wrapped them in silk to be examined and enjoyed further, another day, in another time, when such gifts may be unwound, savored, and prized.

“I prefer it when you smile. You are so beautiful.”

His preference mattered to her. The significance of her smile was treasured, the gift of this response so cherishingly shared. “Thank you…”

“Master.” His tone was firm.

“Thank you, master.” Those words felt too good to her.

An indulgent smile filled his features, and for a moment lips and cheeks looked so sweet—almost boyish—before they melted like sugar dissolving in water. The blaze in his eyes became so intense and hot, as if he could morph her form, draw it away, and make it into another. Perhaps she would be able to travel through dimensions like the dragons.

In two steps he took the platform and stood beside on her the dais. From his waist, he drew a long golden rope.

With deft fingers, he began at the shoulder and wove the rope—over and around, tucked, pulled, then over and around again—until it reached her wrist. The series of H loops covering her made her flesh plump slightly over the sides, and she watched as he made an intricate series of knots and loops to cover her hand before attaching the rope to a metal ring on the side of the pillar. He moved to the other side and repeated the procedure. His fingers were elegant and swift as he made the loops into a golden crochet pattern over her skin.

After he had secured that hand to the opposite pillar, he moved behind her and gathered her waist-length jet hair. Fingers combed through the heavy silk, and she dropped her head back to enjoy the gift of his play. Moving the strands here and there, he touched the nape of her neck and massaged the tender flesh there.

She sighed.

A very male chuckle came from behind her, and the hair was brushed back from her ear. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Happy.”

Fingers trailed down her side. “Yes, soft and precious.” Over her hip and down her buttocks, they moved. “But this is about what I want. Concentrate on this.” They slid between her thighs and cupped her.

A moan escaped from her lips.

“Hmm

m, do you like that my pretty, my Ginger girl?”

The fiery candy had long been swallowed, and the breath—that distinct heat of the dragon—was gone, but she could almost swear it pulsed its fire into her veins.

The presence of his hand drew that dragon magic to him, until it was all she could do to fight herself, to not rock into his heat.

“When you fight this, you fight me.” He squeezed again.